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PORCELAIN by Faouzia
Elian;
"That kind of loneliness," I say gently, "does something to a child. It teaches you not to ask. Not to hope. Not to reach." I whisper, and I glance at him.
"And yet... even then, I knew I needed a mother. I just didn’t know what that meant." I add, and I fall silent to let my words sink in.
The orchard hums quietly around us. Birds sing in the distance, leaves rustle overhead... and peace ...
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